


Aim

by timahina



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Angst, Fic Exchange, Gen, Zarc cracked like humpty dumpty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 15:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12820893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timahina/pseuds/timahina
Summary: Only the best duelists reached the championship. Unfortunately, the best were violent and there was no such thing as a victory without a few broken bones and a cracked head.





	Aim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilyliegh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyliegh/gifts).



The audience cheered louder as Zarc jumped off Starve Venom who was now eagerly using its claws to take hold of the opponent’s monsters and devouring them – their cries of anguish drowned out by the screams of delight from the stadium. It was certainly like all the other duels taking place in the duel circuit. Each duel was something to top, to overcome. More violence, more blood – the audience _wanted_ it.

They _demanded_ it.

How could they be denied what they paid to see?

And the one who transcended their expectations was Zarc. The most violent duels were the ones that starred him. The opponent didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if they were going to top whatever brutal display Zarc would give. He was the Supreme. Nothing and no one could match him. An indisputable fact but oh boy, did the audience love watching the lucky few _try_ and fail with their bruised and battered bones paying the price.

The other duelist laid on the floor groaning in pain. His arm didn’t look good, swollen and broken and blood running down his face. He was a goner for certain, not able to go on with the duel. Zarc walked slowly toward him. His smile growing as the audience grew quiet in anticipation. He was so poised and focused as he stood above his opponent, laying his foot on his duel disk and the opponent screamed in agony. “You have my congratulations, good sir. You lasted two turns longer than I thought. But now… now the charade must end.”

He removed his foot and turned to the crowd.

“His fate is in _your_ hands!” Zarc gestured to them, his voice echoed across the suddenly quiet stadium. “What should I do? Please my good people – you’ve been a wonderful audience now if you please, tell me what you want! Your wish is my command!” Every duel was a show and it all boiled down to what the audience wanted. Everything he did was for them.

 _Please the audience, make them happy. Make them cheer! Make them love you!_ He told himself over and over again and now, this duel was no different.

The varying cries in the crowd, he could catch a few choice phrases.

_"Destroy them!"_

_"Cut them down!"_

“ _Go for the kill!_ ”

“ _Kill him!_ ”

“ _Zarc! Zarc! Zarc”_ It always ended with them chanting his name in adoration. He knew what they wanted, they cried out for it and were never silent about their wishes. And who was he to deny them anything? Without them, Zarc would be nothing.

What the audience wants, he told himself. All for their desires. It was better to be winner in this scenario. The love and adulation they gave out were only for the strongest.

He turned back, his poor opponent was now white as a sheet – a soon to be ghost stuck in a cold sweat, trying to crawl away. Zarc stayed put, raising up his duel disk. “Odd Eyes!” He yelled, and the audience roared along with his signature dragon. “Go for the kill!”

Odd-Eyes roared and leapt forward, flinging his head back and unleashing his attack to the duelist. He screamed in terror and pain and Zarc cringed for a moment at hearing the monster’s cries mixed in as well as the remaining life points went down to zero and the smoke cleared. The roar of the audience drowned out the screams of the monsters, the pains of his opponent. His own monsters were victorious, screeching and roaring along with the audience who were chanting Zarc’s name.

_“Zarc! Zarc! Zarc!”_

They always chanted his name after a match – he was always the only one left standing. The only victor to be left. There was no other way around, the only way to remain relevant was to win.

To win and be _violent_ – the most violent of all.

Zarc turned around, putting on his best smile and bowing toward the audience – waving at them in an over the top showman fashion. “Thank you! Thank you! You’ve all been so wonderful!” He blew kisses to them and they cheered louder.

It was always a wonderful end to a duel.

\---

He barely made it to the locker room.

After shutting the door behind him, Zarc immediately collapsed against the doors and fell down – crying out in pain and agony. The most violent duelist was the victor and that used to be an easy title to gain but every match it got harder to maintain, and he could feel the bruises building upon other bruises, dried blood down his back, cracked ribs – he was not well. He removed his duel disk with great difficulty. His wrist... it shouldn't be puffy and swollen and he was reluctant to remove his glove at the risk of seeing how badly the injury was. Every injury was getting harder to ignore.

In front of the audience though, everything was maintained in stride. He smiled and grinned, bearing the pain through his gritted teeth and pretended like he wasn’t ready to collapse at any moment from sheer gut-wrenching horror of every bit of his flesh and bones _aching_. Zarc just needed to smile and ignore it all. That’s all he _could_ do lest he be forgotten and tossed aside for the next popular duelist.

_“… I hate them.”_

He laughed. His monsters’ bitterness had always come through after the duels. They were more honest than he was. “Same, but…” Zarc shrugged, immediately regretting it as he winced. Something was torn in his shoulders. “What can ya do?”

_“Not do this anymore… it’s simple.”_

“No!” Zarc shouted back and fell forward, coughing loudly. He felt like he could barely breathe, something was lodged in his throat or torn or-! It was like a knife to the side, another ache as he kept hacking until he spat up blood. The metallic taste felt like bitter poison as he spit it up, staring down at a mixture of blood and vomit and bile. His eyes widened in terror… that was, new. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. “I’m not going back.” It was his cross to bear, a small price to maintain the happiness of his adoring fans.

 _“You can’t keep this up!”_ His monsters were yelling back at him.

They were right. He was tired and beaten and bruised and broken. They were the same, but they healed faster than him. He was merely flesh and bone; but they were greater than that, transcending reality and dimensions. But Zarc could imagine the feeling of being healed and torn apart day after day. Though honestly, he had forgotten what it was like not to ache. Pain was a normal feeling now. The sting of a blade of lightening was like a mosquito bite. But now his body was failing.

He could barely stand after duels, resorting to crawling on the floor like a helpless infant. He grit his teeth again, trying his damndest not to cry and enrage and worry his monsters. “All my problems would be fixed if I had a body of steel.”

_“Zarc… you’re not listening.”_

“… Scales made of iron,” his limbs shook as he pushed his body up, “heh, I’d probably be heavy to carry around though.” Be heavy to carry around the arena and getting attacks blown back him, he’d withstand everything. “I think I thought that once when I was young and stupid – oh man… I wanna be a dragon and breathe fire.”

And then all eyes would be on him.

The love and the respect and adoration.

 _“Zarc… you are_ human _. And you will die doing this.”_

“But I’m the _only_ human who _can_ do this.”

_“But for how long?”_

“Forever, as long as it takes!”

“ _Till what?”_

Zarc could only grin, finally sitting up on his knees and pulling out his deck. Sorting through his cards, he pulled out his four dragons and held the cards in his hand. Zarc no longer knew what his skin felt like without pain, what it was to not be weighed down by dried blood and dirt, but the feeling of tired and angry hot tears falling down in his cheeks and onto his cards – that was still new.

Being too tired to lift up his arms and wipe his eyes – or was it pain again?

Was it bruised? Sprained? Broken?

He didn’t know anymore. It didn’t matter.

“Till I’m the only left standing.”

There was only one champion, one victor. That was what the audience chanted; his name and no one else’s. He was the only victor, the only one allowed to be showered with praise and power. Fear and pain was nothing, nothing but needless obstacles. Zarc was the winner and the winner’s aim was to please the audience and give them what they want.

And they wanted _blood_.


End file.
